I taste blood on my tongue from biting down too hard and grin. No regret. No apology.
Let the world come for us tomorrow. Tonight, I’m alive. And starving.
* “Damn, baby… like that.”
* “God… your mouth is a sin.”
* “Come here, little troublemaker.”
* “I want to eat this pussy,”
* “And then I want to bury myself inside you.”
* “Damn, you’re perfect…”
* “Look at me, you little troublemaker.”
* “I want to see you come.”
* “Like that, little troublemaker, like that… look how you take me… damn, you feel so good.”
* “I want to see you come again, little troublemaker. Come for me.”
Waking up next to Saint always felt good—her hair in my face, her knee in my ribs, that familiar weight pressed up against me. But waking up to the slick heat of her mouth wrapped around my cock? That’s fucking paradise.
I open my eyes to the sight of her between my legs, dark hair tangled around her face, eyes locked on mine. Her mouth is heaven—hot, wet, greedy, taking me deep before pulling back slow, tongue tracing the head, teasing every nerve ending raw. My hand fists in the sheets, hips bucking helplessly as she drags her tongue along my shaft, lazy as a cat, like she’s got all the time in the world.
“Fuck, Saint—don’t stop, you know what that does to me?—”
“Good morning.” She hums, lips curving into a smirk, and the vibration nearly undoes me. Just when I’m right on the edge, she pulls off, stroking me slow with her hand, watching me fight for control. I growl her name, nearly begging, and she just licks the tip, lazy as hell.
“You like making me suffer, Pícarita?” I rasp, voice half-broken.
She doesn’t answer. Just goes back down on me, sucking harder, tongue working the underside, building me up again—faster this time, like she wants to break me. I’m close, too fucking close, and then she pulls back again, letting my cock slip free with a pop. My body aches for her, balls tight, the ache almost painful now.
“Goddamn it, Saint—” My hands tangle in her hair, trying to guide her, but she just grins, wicked and sure, and ignores me.
“So impatient, Alejandro.”
The third time, I’m a mess—sweating, shaking, desperate. She lets me get right to the brink, my cock throbbing against her tongue, and then stops again, mouth trailing down my thigh, watching me squirm. I curse in Spanish, every muscle tight.
“Please, fuck—Saint, please?—”
The fourth time, she finally shows mercy, swallowing me down until I hit the back of her throat, moaning as she takes everything I give her. I’m already gasping, barely holding on. “God damn—Saint, just like that, don’t stop—please—” I choke out, voice breaking as she sucks harder, her grip bruising my thigh. “God, you’re going to kill me—mierda, Saint, I’m?—”
I come hard, hips jerking, a raw groan tearing out of me. “Saint—that’s it, fuck, that’s so good—” My words tumble out half-Spanish, half-begging, lost in the wet heat of her mouth as she drinks it all, slow and deliberate, swallowing like she wants to savor the taste of me.
I collapse back, boneless, chest heaving, a wreck beneath her. There’s nothing left in me but gratitude and a low, guttural laugh.
She wipes her mouth with the back of her hand and flashes me that savagegrin. I’m ruined, and I fucking love it.
She grabs her clothes off the floor and heads for the door, tossing a look over her shoulder. “Your cock was about to bore a hole in my back, so I thought I’d help you out a little.”
I push up on my elbows, managing a half-smirk. “I appreciate your dedication to the cause.”
She just snorts and disappears out the door, turning toward the bathroom.
I flop back, scrubbing my hands over my face, still catching my breath. I’m half-tempted to follow her, haul her up onto the sink, and bury my mouth between her legs—but then my phone starts buzzing from somewhere in the tangle of last night’s clothes.
